


hypnagogia

by jollypuppet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Desire Demon(s) (Dragon Age) - Freeform, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollypuppet/pseuds/jollypuppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Dragon Age: Inquisition kink meme. A desire demon tries to tempt Dorian disguised as Cullen, and awkward conversations are had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hypnagogia

**Author's Note:**

> I will say I'm sufficiently nervous about this piece. I've never written for Dragon Age, Dorian and Cullen are kind of different than anything I've ever had experience with writing in the past, and a good bit of this is me trying to become comfortable writing in this narrative. So this is partly a character study, but I really, really liked the prompt and wanted to fill it to the best of my ability. Hope you like it!
> 
> [Here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12606.html?thread=49679166#t49679166)'s where you can find the kink meme prompt.

When Cullen shows up in the Fade, Dorian immediately knows something is wrong.

He’s not sure why he’s dreaming in the Commander’s office, inspecting the dusty and nonsensical tomes on his bookshelves, and even if this seems to be the most obvious place to find Cullen, Dorian’s visited the Fade enough times in his lifetime to know to trust his instincts, and his instincts are telling him to be on his guard.

“Dorian?” His voice is dry and southern, the way it is when Dorian’s awake, but not quite right. “Did the Inquisitor send you for something?”

His presence is clear, so he’s not a figment of Dorian’s imagination. There is someone, or _something_ , else in the Fade with him right now, and he’s not too keen on making it upset. “Sent to fetch a book, in fact, though I’m glad to know my presence wouldn’t have otherwise been welcomed.” Dorian says, careful to keep his tone light. There’s no bite to his words, just the clear intention of getting away. “But it seems our Commander isn’t quite as well read as my current task necessitates, so I’ll just be going. I’m sure Josephine will be able to call in a favor from some dusty Nevarran library or something, no need to trouble yourself.”

“Trouble?” Cullen’s brow is furrowed, and he presses a stack of folders up against the surface of a desk turned on its side and jutting from the wall. He does it as if it’s the most natural, understandable thing to do, and Dorian keeps it in his mind to study Fade physics at a later date. “I never said you were troubling me. I’m sorry if I came across sounding dismissive, you’re welcome in my office anytime.”

Dorian’s smile is tight, and he doesn’t like that he’s trapped between Cullen’s desk and _Cullen_. “That’s so very sweet, I’ll have to write it down in my diary.” Cullen’s holding himself the way he always does, with his hands comfortably resting atop the pommel of his sword, but – ah, yes, there it is, his left hand lies above his right. A small mistake, but Dorian’s studied the way Cullen moves and holds himself and postures enough to notice it. “But you’ll forgive that my presence is required elsewhere, I’m sure. Much work to be done, inquisitions to be run, magisters to defeat, all that. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer, Commander.”

He tries to remove himself from the situation as quickly and precisely as possible, but the way Cullen sidesteps into his escape route is inhuman, and Dorian’s path to the door is suddenly much more complicated. Cullen’s smile is sweet. Dorian thinks he might vomit.

“Call me Cullen.” He says, and Dorian skyrockets from mildly annoyed to sufficiently pissed off and also kind of queasy. He’s read _Swords & Shields_ so he can already see how this scene is supposed to pan out, and it makes him _angry_ , because those books are _trash_. “And you don’t have to leave just yet. Do you?”

“I really do.” Dorian says, and jumps a bit when Cullen elects to step further into his personal space. “The Inquisitor really, _really_ needs to discuss something with me, Commander, and I’d rather not keep him waiting. I’ll be leaving now.”

Cullen’s eyes are dark and warm, and Dorian would probably be over the moon if this was a little less saccharine and if he were a little less unconscious. He watches Cullen drag his eyes down and then back up, smiling like a starved vulture wrapped in the body of a very, _very_ handsome man. “Five minutes. The Inquisitor can spare five minutes, can’t he?”

“Even in the Fade, your appraisal of my stamina is both ill-informed and _extremely_ hurtful, now may I please go?” Dorian cuts to the chase, and even if there is no Inquisitor beyond that wooden office door, even if there is nothing but a dragon’s nest or an angry Tevinter mob or an angry Tevinter mob conveniently stationed in a dragon’s nest, he has a terrible need to be somewhere else.

Cullen’s hand is on his hip before Dorian can even see it, as if it was already there and he just hadn’t noticed it, and he realizes how close their chests are, how Cullen’s other hand is gently gripping his arm in a way that is one part _I like you_ , three parts _I’m keeping you_. “You won’t need any more than that, not with me.” Cullen purrs, and leans in to nip at Dorian’s lips, but the mage turns his head at the last second, the kiss hitting his cheekbone. “You don’t have to play hard to get, Dorian, I _know_ how you feel about me. I see the way you look at me. I feel the same.”

Dorian rolls his eyes, and he only turns his head when he feels Cullen begin to mouth at his neck, because as much as his stubble feels nice there, Dorian’s sure it’d feel a lot less nice if some Fade monster decided to rip out his throat with its teeth. “That’s all well and good, Commander, and you are flattering me to death, I assure you, but I must. Be. _Going_.”

He’s expecting some outcry of anger from Cullen – no, whatever currently has him in its grip is _not_ Cullen Rutherford, so he’s expecting some holy eruption of fire that he can quickly seal away and escape from, and to be honest, that’d be easier to deal with than whatever this… thing… is, because at least then he’d know what he’s dealing with. As it is right now, he has no idea what sort of demon is passing itself off in the skin of a devilishly attractive blonde ex-Templar and Dorian is much, _much_ less than fond of the devil he does not know. If being altus has taught him anything, it’s when the employment of tact is _more_ than crucial.

But instead of that, Cullen’s face falls, and he seems suddenly very unsure of himself, and it’s the most human thing Dorian has seen him do. “I… if you really don’t want this… but I thought…” He looks downright _hurt_ , although Dorian can still feel the essence of this spirit trying to swallow him like the curling ashes in a fire. “This is a dream. I know it’s a dream, but I was hoping… if we can’t in the waking world, be like _this_ , I was hoping that maybe here…”

Dorian doesn’t speak for a moment. There’s a very small, very empathetic part of him that wants to reach out so badly, desperately wants Cullen in this world if he can’t have him in any other, and he supposes this is the Commander’s heart speaking out to his own. _It’s trying to plant doubt in your mind_ , he reminds himself. _It’s a cunning thing, this one._ He still doesn’t speak, he still doesn’t know the nature of this beast.

It could be a pride demon, playing to his vanity, or a despair demon, appealing to this unrequited… _something_ he feels for Cullen. He looks down and lets his hand rest against Cullen’s breastplate, and a smile flickers across the other man’s face. Dorian uses his finger to trace lazy, listless patterns against the metal above his heart.

“Please.” Cullen says quietly, drawing him closer. “We have all the time in the world to be apart, so _please_.”

Dorian does not look up. “On one condition, my dear Commander.” He says, trying to keep calm as his mind works quickly in Tevene and his mouth moves slowly, as to not betray his thoughts. “I need you to be honest with me. No tricks to get me into bed, and no lying. I need to know that you truly desire me.”

It feels as though Cullen could devour him whole, the way he’s being held, arms pressed comfortingly against his back, his voice a low, sultry rumble. “Yes. More than anything, yes, Dorian, _yes._ ”

Dorian presses his palm to Cullen’s breastplate once more. “Good.” He says, matter of fact, and the sigil underneath his hand glows a bright red and burns straight through the metal.

The desire demon screams as it jumps back from its form pressed against Dorian’s body, and Cullen seems to disappear like clumped sand being washed away by the sea, his grip on Dorian loosening, leaving him feeling much more free and comfortable. The demon is still shrieking and clawing at its chest where the sigil burns hot against its skin, and Dorian raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. It can’t lift itself from where it writhes on the floor. It’s sad, in a way.

“That’s Tevinter magic. Real old stuff, too, and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” Dorian says to the curled up thing on the floor, pink skin and yellow eyes a stark contrast to the dark blacks and browns of Cullen’s office. “I think you’ve had enough fun with me for one night, so I’ll be taking my leave. Let me know how having a gaping, burning hole in your chest goes for you.”

He starts towards the door, but there’s a frantic, erratic scratching on the floor, and the strangled, layered cry of many voices reaching out to him, confused and jumbled up. “Wait!” it screams, the beast on the floor, using each voice that has ever endeared Dorian in a last ditch attempt to wrench some sympathy from him. “You cannot leave me here, not like this! You wretched, mortal dog, spare me of this agony. I will give you whatever you want.” It tries Cullen’s voice one last time. “I can make him love you.”

“Why do you assume that’s what I want?” Dorian asks plainly, because really, he’d like to be enlightened. “I thought desire demons were supposed to able to see into the deepest desires of a human’s heart. I’m not starving to death for Cullen Rutherford’s love, you know. He smells like dogs and honesty, and I’m not entirely ready to have that love me.”

“You are a human.” The desire demon replies meekly. “You do not yearn for power, for I would have offered you a kingdom. You crave not wealth, or I would have presented you with riches. You mortals are weak and foolish. You kill yourselves for companionship.” It curls up more on its slowly rotting body. “I offered you love. Now please let me go.”

Dorian purses his lips. There’s no point in torturing something that will never learn. It’s against this thing’s nature to understand the complexities of human emotions, so with a wave of his hand, he does not remove the sigil, but lessens its burn. The monster sags gratefully against the floor, its claws still clutched tightly over its breast. “You’ll be fine after a while.” Dorian says, and he turns around, and walks away. And he opens the door.

\--

The next morning, Dorian takes a slow walk across the grounds of Skyhold, and is uncomfortable. For once his clothes are warm enough to shield against the cold mountain winds, and the air is light and easy today, no missions, no impending doom save for the one everyone is already aware of, just a relaxed day of strategy for the advisors and waiting for everyone else. He is uncomfortable, still, and feels like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The desire demon had been wrong about him. It mistook a simple attraction, a natural pining for something unattainable, and blew it out of proportion, made his heart look like it was desperately crying out for love. Really and truly, his heart is not. His heart is barely mewling for affection, let alone waiting for Cullen Rutherford to bust down his door and sweep him off of his feet. Dorian’s goals include doing better by a continent that hates his kind, and not dying. They do not include wooing the Inquisition’s Commander.

“Open, the door was open for so long, so widely left open, and now so tightly shut, firmly locked, left alone. The air that pushes through, the gap beneath the door, it is cold, it moves and it breathes and it is cold. He does not want to leave, he is so comfortable and so cold. He stays inside.” Dorian huffs an aggravated sigh and turns around to find Cole perched on the ground, watching a bug drown in the shallow waters of a puddle.

“I wish the lot of you would stop trying to read me as if I’m one of Varric’s garbage novels.” He says, though there’s no heat to it. He knows Cole means no harm, and probably can’t even help it when he speaks. Cole doesn’t look up, his face covered by the brim of his hat, but his hand reaches out to let the squirming bug crawl onto his finger.

“I wasn’t.” Cole tells him. “That wasn’t for you. A girl, somewhere nearby, so sad, so alone. She cried herself to sleep last night. Her love, he refuses to see her. It was him.” He brings the bug to dry ground and then stands up, walking away. “But why did you think it was for you?”

He watches Cole’s back as he disappears and then he doesn’t, and suddenly he’s been alone all morning with the distinct feeling like someone had been with him. He curses in Tevene because he knows it was Cole, just as much as he doesn’t know, and mumbles, “Why _did_ I think it was for me?”

“Dorian!”

He looks up just in time to see Inquisitor Trevelyan jogging over to him, his arms laden with books and papers that stack up to reach his nose. Dorian dives for one of them as it begins to fall from the top of the pile and says, “Inquisitor, really, if there’s something wrong with your face, you needn’t hide it. I’m sure I could find you any number of cosmetics to cover up a broken nose or a split lip.”

He can’t see it, but the way Trevelyan’s eyes light up suggest he’s smiling behind all those books. “I appreciate the concern, but no, I’m just very busy. Listen, I have a very important meeting with Josephine and some of her Antivan merchant friends and it wouldn’t do well for my reputation to be late, but Cullen’s been waiting for these red lyrium reports Varric and I have been drawing up. Do you mind bringing them to him?”

“I would be happy to fight through dragons and Freemen alike for you, but the Commander is an entirely different beast, you know. I’m not sure I’m up for such a ludicrously arduous task.” Even as he speaks, he sorting the files from the top of the Inquisitor’s load and tucking them neatly back into order. “But I will give it my most valiant effort _for you_.”

“I knew I could count on you, Dorian. Sarcastic, maybe, but unreliable you are not.” Trevelyan trots past him in the direction of Skyhold’s main hall, and calls back, “Thank you again!”

He watches Trevelyan disappear into the castle and feels pretty fine about himself, briefly ponders if his debt to this cause has been paid and maybe he can return escape up north where the weather is actually bearable, before realizing that those papers are still in his hands. He looks down at them, recognizes the Inquisitor’s careful scrawl and Varric’s detailed notes and sketches, and thinks, _Ah, yes, these are going to Commander Cullen_.

“Maybe I’m still in the Fade.” He mutters before heading on his way.

\--

He knocks on Cullen’s door without hesitating when he arrives, because he’s not a young child and he can distinguish between reality and a nightmare, and he knows that Commander Cullen isn’t here to steal his soul.

“Come in,” he hears from inside, and he enters, effortlessly swinging open the door and striding in, immediately taking ownership of the room. Cullen looks up from where he’s working at his desk and furrows his brow. “Dorian? What brings you here?”

“Most people tend to be more enthusiastic about my company, Commander. Strictly business today, though.” He says and brings the files over to Cullen’s desk, places them on top of the untouched pile of work Cullen has no doubt glanced guiltily at several times in the last few hours. “The Inquisitor asked that I drop off the red lyrium reports he wrote with Varric. He was a tad busy entertaining some Antivans, so he sent me in his stead. Send him a bouquet of flowers as thanks, if you feel so inclined.” He turns on his heel and heads back toward the door, takes note of the lack of a table glued to the wall, and is intent to go back to wandering the grounds far away from the Commander.

“Hold on.”

 _This is a nightmare_ , Dorian thinks to himself, stopping even though he doesn’t want to, _I’m still in the Fade and I’m going to be possessed and it’ll be so embarrassing_.

He turns around to face Cullen, who’s already standing and observing the report at the top of the pile. He looks up as he rounds his desk. “Are you alright? You’re acting… very clipped today.”

“Well, forgive me for not being an unending fountain of wit on every given day of the week. Even the naturally talented have to rest sometimes.” He shivers suddenly, and even though he can’t see it, he knows there’s a draft coming in from the hole in the ceiling upstairs. “Have you still not asked to have your ceiling repaired, Commander? We’re in the _mountains_. You’ll take _ill_.”

“You seem anxious.” Cullen gets straight back to the point and Dorian scoffs. “What? You do. I don’t claim to know you well, Dorian, but I think I can tell that much.” There’s a hint of genuine concern in his voice now, and it’s free of that slight slant, that barely noticeable perversion that came with it in the Fade. “Is something wrong?”

Dorian looks him dead in the eye, intent on not pulling any punches. “Fine. I will explain it to you and that will be that. I visited this office in the Fade while I slept and was harassed by a demon for most of the night. Probably one of the least restful nights I’ve had since coming here, so you can imagine why this room might be making me _anxious_.”

Cullen seems surprised, and he looks around the room as if demons could still be around. “A demon? What did it try to do to you?” He knits his brow together. “Why did you come to my office in the first place?”

“First of all, it was a recreation of your office in the Fade, not the real thing, so you can stop looking around the room as if a rift is about to burst open from the walls.” Dorian tells him. “And I didn’t choose to be here. It just happened. May I leave now?”

Cullen looks back from where he’s staring at the ceiling, as if waiting for demons to descend upon him and the mage, and sets his eyes on Dorian again. “You never struck me as the kind of person to get caught up over nightmares. Is that the kind of thing that bothers you?”

It’s just an earnest enough question to make Dorian angry. “I wouldn’t call it a nightmare, Commander, as my life was very much in danger, thank you very much. And no, you don’t need to be worried about me and my sleeping habits, I’m more than capable of handling it on my own.”

“Then why are you so eager to get out of here?”

“Because I’d rather not spend my day shivering in your drafty unfinished structural disaster of an office.” Dorian says, drawing his arms in closer to his body as if it’ll make him warmer. The cold he feels, though, is hardly from the temperature around him. “I’m going to go for a walk to try and get my blood flowing properly again. Don’t let that mountain of work swallow you, Commander, it’d be a shame to lose a face as handsome as yours to bureaucratic tedium.”

“Along the battlements?” Cullen asks. “I’ll come with you. I need to clear my head for a while before I can get back to work, I’m starting to feel bogged down.”

And there’s not much Dorian can say in protest to that, so he exhales through his nose, torn between elation at having Cullen’s company and dread that he may have to be introspective during this little stroll, and tightly says, “The more the merrier.”

\--

“What was the demon like? The one that kept you from sleeping, I mean.” Cullen asks as they slowly make their way across Skyhold’s high walls, the sprawling wilderness of snowy mountains and bare trees laid out as far as the eye can see before them.

Dorian wishes he could be inside, or at least away from Cullen, somewhere no one will ask him about this, somewhere he won’t be obligated to answer lest make the conversation seem odd. “It was unimpressive. Clearly less skilled than other demons I’ve come across. It fell for a rather simple Tevinter sigil and ended up pleading with me for its life.”

“Wow.” Cullen murmurs. “You make it sound effortless.”

“I’m not exactly unskilled at dealing with possessive demons, Commander.”

“So it bargained with you in the end?” Cullen asks, his right hand sitting atop his left as he grips the pommel of his sword, comfortable and _right_ at his hip. “It must have been a pride demon or a desire demon, then. Rage demons don’t have the capacity for that kind of minutiae, and neither do sloth demons.”

Dorian purses his lips. “Right on the nose, my dear Commander. A desire demon it was. However, being the cunning and quick-witted man that I am, I was able to escape quite flawlessly. Rather cut and dry for a Fade story, if you ask me. Remind me sometime to tell you about the spirit that disguised itself as every Tevinter archon simultaneously, that one’s a chore to wrap the head around.”

They’re pacing now, and as they reach the door to the upper floors of the tavern, they turn to head in the other direction. Cullen snorts, turning his head to look at Dorian as they walk. He’s really got a fetching pair of eyes, and Dorian feels itchy underneath their gaze. Cullen’s too earnest of a man and Dorian’s really not sure what to do with that. “You’ve dealt with desire demons before, then? I’m not surprised, I’m sure all mages have run into their fair share of Fade creatures, but being able to resist its charms _and_ conjure up some ancient Tevinter ward against it? I can’t say I’m not impressed.”

“Impressed? With _me?_ Your admiration for me has never gone unnoticed, Commander, but I’m surprised to actually hear it come from your mouth.” Dorian waves his hand. “Please, go on, I’m not showered with praises nearly enough, being the magister’s son out of water and all.”

“You’re very fond of the pariah card, aren’t you?”

“It adds to my charm.” Dorian shrugs.

“So, what did it try to offer you?” Cullen asks, and Dorian can feel something small, like a shiver, race up the length of spine and settle at the base of his neck, but he refuses to let Cullen see it. He’d been hoping to avoid this line of questioning. “Arcane knowledge? Power enough to smite your enemies?”

“If I felt the need to smite down any enemies, my dear Commander, I assure you I’d be fully capable as I am.” Dorian shuts his mouth after that, trying to use his sense of humor to deflect the conversation entirely, but still, Cullen presses.

“I suppose that’s fair. You don’t seem the power-hungry type, anyway, nor do you strike me as particularly greedy.” Cullen scrunches up his nose in thought, and it’s rather canine-like, which Dorian hates because he’s never been a fan of dogs but he’s certainly a fan of Cullen. “I suppose all that would be left to offer would be…” he trails off, and his hand subconsciously reaches up to rub the back of his neck, clearing his throat quietly.

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Romantic companionship, you act as if it’s blasphemous.”

“It would be personal, for most people.” Cullen argues weakly. “I didn’t want to pry, is all. I probably shouldn’t have asked in the first place.”

“You southerners are far too concerned with accidentally offending others, you know that? In Minrathous, debauchery and scandal may be frowned upon, but it’s still a source of common gossip. Desire demons are possibly the lowest rung on the ladder, too.” Dorian says, and if Cullen wants to argue, he clearly doesn’t think it’s worth it anymore. “The demon appeared to me in the form of a handsome man. I feel no shame in admitting that.”

“Nor should you!” Cullen jumps in hastily.

Dorian waves him down calmly. “Commander, _please_ , I haven’t needed someone to comfort me in lieu of my sexual preferences since I was barely a teenager, though I appreciate the gesture.” Cullen stutters and Dorian does _love_ steering a conversation. “In any case, the demon tried to woo me, I swooned for long enough to get close to it and place the sigil. I’d dare call it procedural, it was so dull.”

“It must have known the type of men you prefer, then.” Cullen muses, and though it isn’t accusatory, Dorian suddenly feels very self-conscious. “I mean, sexual preference is one thing, personal taste is another. Did it look like anyone in particular?”

His very small window of opportunity to leave this conversation unscathed is quickly becoming much, _much_ smaller, Dorian realizes, and his pause is much longer than he would have liked it to be. “Well… you’re astute, Commander, desire demons don’t generalize, but this one –”

“It _did_ look like someone.” Cullen says it as if it’s the most amazing revelation he’s made all day. Considering how much paperwork he had on his desk, it may just well be, too. “Who, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You’re starting to sound like some tittering member of the nobility.”

“The Inquisitor?” Cullen asks, and Dorian’s bark of laughter is harsh.

“As much as I hold Inquisitor Trevelyan in very high regard – what? I do, I wouldn’t be here otherwise – he has a certain air to him that, while it appeals to me as a friend, somewhat repels me as a suitor.”

Cullen’s expression is confused. “What? Is it the honesty? Or the common propriety?”

“Now you’re just being mean.” Dorian sniffs. “No, it might be the fact that he’s some manner of holy chosen one or the hero of the people, but he’s got far too big of a spotlight cast on him right now to be interested in him romantically. I would follow him into battle any day, but into the bedroom, _that’s_ what people whisper about behind your back.”

“The Iron Bull, then?”

“Do _not._ ”

Cullen chuckles and pulls the door to his office open as they reach it again, gesturing for Dorian to enter before him. “Was it somebody you only passingly fancy, or somebody you’re actually interested in? Pursuing, I mean. Romantically.” He closes the door behind him and Dorian feels the ghost of an emotion, an instinct that says _leave, now, before things get bad._ He tries to shake it, because he’s not in the Fade and this Cullen isn’t a desire demon in disguise, but still, fleeing is a pretty universal option in the face of conflict whether you’re in the Fade or not.

He doesn’t know what to say, really. He doesn’t want to admit that, but silence is an answer in and of itself, so he says, “The demon thought I was looking for something, clearly.” It’s not a lie, though it’s not the whole truth, either.

“But are you?” Cullen asks.

Dorian sighs harshly. “No, I suppose I’m not. It would go against all my better judgments, though, to be honest, it wasn’t something I was carefully considering whilst it was trying to kill me.”

Cullen steps away from the door, his hands resting again on his sword, and he eyes Dorian with interest. “Against all your better judgments? That’s not really a yes or a no, then.” He looks around the room in an attempt to be casual. “Some of the recruits, though, they’re interested in you. It’d be easy for you to find companionship for the night, and yet you haven’t.”

“Not as far as you know.” Dorian snorts.

“Word travels fast when you live in an isolated mountain surrounded by nothing but snow and rocks. If not through word of mouth alone, I would have known through Leliana if you were up to anything.” Dorian tries his best to look offended, but he really can’t bring himself to be surprised by the acuity of the spymaster’s gaze anymore, she’s _terrifying_. “Are you looking for long-term companionship in Skyhold? Or, at least, long in the sense more than a week?”

“I’m looking to _not die_.” Dorian replies, and Cullen’s got this smile on his face like he’s slowly unraveling a rather stubborn knot. “I joined the Inquisition to fight for the greater good, as I’m sure did you. Slay dragons, save royalty, all very noble and worthy of tavern songs, and if I happen to find someone to share my bed with in the meantime, then yes, I’d rather it be something substantial, though I’m not expecting anything. I’m in the business of not expecting things, as you can imagine.”

“Well, why not?” Cullen says it like it’s been sitting in his mind from the moment Dorian started to speak, and it’s more than a little jarring, how confident his words are. “I can’t tell if you’re being a pessimist or self-deprecating. Or both. Is it both?”

“The cultural dissonance here is _astounding_ , please continue.” Dorian crosses his arms. He’s not expecting Cullen to cross the rest of the distance between them, but he does, and Dorian finds that having Cullen this close to him is not nearly as enjoyable as he might have previously assumed it would be.

Cullen’s voice is low and he asks, “Why not learn to expect more from others?” and this would be _marvelous_ if it was any other day, any other time, if Dorian had had just a bit more time to mentally adjust himself after having his sore spots prodded at in the Fade. He’s not even entirely sure what’s happening, but even with his heart racing, he’s pretty sure he’s not misreading this. There’s no essence of possessiveness grasping out from Cullen like little fingers, there’s no heaviness to the room trying to weigh him down, there’s just him and the Commander and a clear line to the door and an innocent, passive suggestion hanging in the air.

He realizes he’s holding his breath. He tries to keep his exhale from being shaky, but it’s hard and Cullen’s eyes are on him and he really _hates_ looking unprepared in front of others. Cullen backs up half a step.

“Clearly there was a miscommunication here.” Cullen’s words aren’t icy, simply professional and respectful, and he offers Dorian his space without a second thought. “You’re always teasing me, you know. Calling me handsome. Dashing. A sight for sore eyes.” He averts his gaze. “I suppose I shouldn’t have taken you so seriously. I’m sorry if I –”

“It was you.” Dorian blurts out, against every instinct and every careful nuance he learned trying to hide his identity in Tevinter, and this is a _terrible_ idea but terrible ideas are very Fereldan, aren’t they?

Cullen’s mouth is still open from when he was speaking and he seems to have to remind himself to close it. He works his jaw for a moment in thought, as if rolling all the possible things he could say over in his mouth, chewing on them in thought, before finally biting. “I’m going to need you to clarify.”

Leave it to Cullen Rutherford to only be self-assured when it isn’t necessary to hold a conversation with him. Dorian grits his teeth, the general shape of his words bubbling up from his throat, and he tries to find the best way to express them. “This will most likely confuse things more than sort them out, but I mean the desire demon. It appeared to me as you. It used _your_ form as a disguise.”

“It tried to tempt you into possession disguised as me?” There’s no way that he doesn’t already see what’s going on, Dorian’s tried to explain it as clearly as he physically can without losing all semblance of dignity. “So it thought it could get the most out of you by pretending to be me and _wooing_ you.”

“Yes.” Dorian seethes. “It was a very forward demon, too, which might have been why I was suspicious of it from the start. I think it oversimplified the concept of human attraction, but it _was_ a desire demon after all, and… well,” Dorian sighs, “you said it yourself, I go out of my way to call you handsome more often than not.”

“So you’re sexually attracted to me?” Cullen asks, and his candor is _infuriating_.

“Was that ever in question?” Dorian replies, some of that annoyance seeping into his voice. Cullen shrugs, his expression one of subtle approval. That’s the first step to becoming smug, Dorian knows all too well, and he’s almost positive he wouldn’t be able to stand a smug Cullen.

Cullen shrugs as if this has been the most casual conversation he has ever had. It’s admirable, if nothing else, even though Dorian can see hints of red staining the tips of his ears. “I’ve already said my piece. All that’s left is to find something to do with all this new information.” He looks Dorian in the eye, and his gaze is almost challenging. “Your move, Lord Dorian.”

As much as he unknowingly postures himself like a blushing virgin, Cullen is capable of igniting fire within him faster than anyone else Dorian has ever known – how _dare_ he force Dorian into the active role while he still clearly holds the reigns? It’s this kind of social precision that… well, no, at this rate, Minrathous would _adore_ Cullen and try to eat him like a rare steak. There’s a good bit of pride fueling him when he closes the distance between the two of them, seizing Cullen’s mouth like a man trying to conquer the world. His hands find Cullen’s sides and gently guide him until his back hits a wall, and one of Cullen’s hands is in his hair, reciprocating the kiss in earnest. This feels _vastly_ different than his interaction with the desire demon – in the Fade, he had felt cornered and coerced, whereas here, he’s doing most of the work. Cullen might have laid the groundwork to lead him to this outcome, but he was the one who had to walk down that road in the first place.

 _Good to know all three advisors are terrifying in their own ways_ , Dorian thinks.

Cullen pulls away, breathing hard, and lets his head lean back against the hard surface of the wall, considerably more flushed but smiling. “Isn’t getting straight to the point sometimes so _fun?_ ” Dorian leans in to suck a hard mark against the skin at the base of his jaw, right where the bone juts out underneath his ear, and Cullen’s breath hitches.

Dorian scrapes his teeth against that hard, defined line. “I wouldn’t say we’ve quite arrived at the point just yet.” He reaches a hand down to cup between Cullen’s legs, where his cock is beginning to swell and form a bulge against the front of his pants. Cullen swears under his breath, bringing a hand up to grip Dorian’s bicep. “We’re almost there, though.”

Part of him wants to take the time to remove Cullen’s armor, strip him of all his ridiculous trappings and furs and take him against the wall long and deep and slow to remind him of who’s really in charge, but he hasn’t the patience, so he files that thought away for another day. He fiddles with the Commander’s clothes just enough to loosen his slacks, pulling them down far enough to free his cock where it’s been straining against the fabric. Cullen lets out a ragged groan as he runs his hand over it once, twice, in strong, broad strokes that make Cullen bite his lip and stutter his hips.

Dorian keeps working Cullen’s cock just a bit too slow, a bit too _not enough_ that makes Cullen’s knees shake, and uses his other hand to fiddle with his own pants. “You are _entirely_ aggravating, I hope you know.” He growls, taking Cullen’s mouth again because he’s biting his lips raw and needs something to distract himself. “You made me come to you, and I _hate_ that.” He says between kisses, sealing the thought with a deep swipe of his tongue inside the Commander’s mouth.

He’s able to release his own erection after a moment or two more and he positions his hips together with Cullen’s, bringing his hand to stroke down the both of them in tandem. Cullen’s already wet with precome and he slides against Dorian almost too well, and Dorian has to remind himself to focus and not lose his mind. Cullen lets out a breathy laugh, saying, “I’m trying to get into the business of making you come, if you haven’t already gathered,” and Dorian shows his appreciation for the quip by swiping his thumb across Cullen’s slit abruptly. The moan that erupts from his mouth is a bit too loud and Dorian _loves_ it.

They roll their hips together, having fallen into a natural rhythm against one another as Dorian’s hand works the both of them, and after a beat, Cullen brings his own hand down to cover Dorian’s. He tightens Dorian’s grip and slows his strokes a bit, and when the mage looks in his eyes, he can see they’re blown wide and dark. “ _Relax_ ,” Cullen growls, and Dorian loses his pace for a moment, squeezing at the base of Cullen’s cock a bit too hard, and the Commander moans, long and low. He wants to hear it again, watch the way the sound strains against his throat, the shape his mouth forms around it. Dorian realizes that there are a lot of things about Cullen he wants to see, wants to hear.

It takes only a couple more strokes from both of their hands to make Dorian’s head start to swim, and with the little grunts and aborted whines Cullen is making, he’s sure he’s not the only one. Cullen ends up coming first, his hips freezing as he tries to hold himself up during his release, and Dorian simply keeps up the pace, watches the pleasure flicker across Cullen’s face as he nears his own climax. Cullen, without warning, digs his fingers into the hairs at the back of his head and _pulls_ , and it’s all he needs to send him hurtling over the edge.

As he comes down, he becomes acutely aware of how quiet the room is around them, almost silent save for their ragged breathing, and yes, this does feel so much different. There’s no oppressive feeling of dread looming over him, just a cold office and boring paperwork on the desk and the reminder that his life is about to continue as it had before, except now he might be somewhat involved with the Inquisition’s Commander. And to be honest, that’s not the worst thing he could be. He could be dead, after all, or even possessed, and then where would he be?

He steps back from Cullen, his legs shaking a bit, and he’s sticky and uncomfortable but really doesn’t have much of a choice but to tuck himself back into his pants and hope that there’s a bath open somewhere that he can use. Cullen is still breathing hard, leaning against the wall, and he runs a hand through his hair, blonde curls stark against his sweaty brow. He _is_ a sight for sore eyes, truly, debauched and barely even able to hold himself up.

“My handiwork is _marvelous_.” Dorian mumbles, and Cullen glares at him. He takes a second to compose himself and, soon enough, he looks no worse for the wear than any other tired or post-coital member of the Inquisition, which is a feat in and of itself, given their living circumstances.

“So,” Cullen is eventually able to say, “on a scale from one to desire demon, where would you rate that? Around a six, possibly a seven?”

Dorian can’t help but laugh at that. “Oh, _Commander_ , give yourself more credit than that. You’re in an entirely different league, I assure you, though I wouldn’t let it get to your head.”

Cullen smirks. “You really like referring to me by my title, don’t you?”

“I really do love how it sounds.”

“It sounds best when you say it.”

Dorian waves him off nonchalantly. “You can’t flatter me with facts, it’s impersonal and disappointing.” Cullen slowly makes his way from his position against the wall back to the chair behind his desk, even his movements in sitting down particular. “You’re a surprisingly persuasive man when you need to be. I suppose you’re not going to try and persuade me to stay, though.”

“I have a mountain of work to do before the day’s done. I can’t look like I’m slacking off when the Inquisitor’s working himself to death.” Cullen explains quietly, and Dorian’s really not surprised, nor is he hurt. Low expectations and all. Cullen looks up at him, though, and there’s mischief in his eyes. “But could I persuade you to come back tonight?”

“Could you?” Dorian answers, smiling. “You already have.” And Cullen seems perfectly satisfied with that and nothing more.

Dorian turns around to leave, and his pathway to the door is straightforward and unobstructed. So he leaves, and he knows the world outside will lead him right back when the time comes.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm only relatively sure that Cullen's right hand rests above his left on his pommel. Could I be wrong? Yes, absolutely, the possibility is without a doubt there.


End file.
